Robert B. Parker's Debt to Pay (17 page)

W
hen Kahan and Jesse left the Vineland Park PD, Ari was outside, waiting in the Escalade to take Jesse to the hotel. Kahan handed Jesse the file and said he'd see him later.

“Aren't you coming?” Jesse asked.

“My car's parked in the lot. Ari will handle it from here. He'll be by later to get you and Diana at a quarter to eight.” Kahan turned and left.

Jesse opened the front passenger door to the Escalade, but Ari shook his head no. “It's more secure if you ride in the backseat, Chief Stone. The armor is thicker back there.”

“Armor?”

“All of Mr. Hunsicker's vehicles have been . . . what is the word in English? Modified for security purposes. Would take a lot to disable our vehicles.”

“He has enemies?” Jesse asked.

“He has money. Money makes for distrust, no? It makes you an attractive target for people with strange notions of how to get money for themselves without working for it.”

Jesse shook his head. “Far as I can tell, Ari, all money does is make people paranoid asses.”

Ari laughed. “That, too. But Mr. Hunsicker is good to us and generous. I have no complaints.”

“I'll ride up front, and call me Jesse.”

Ari shrugged. “All right, Jesse.”

The ride to the hotel was a short and silent one, but as Jesse got out, Ari once again reminded him about the pickup time. The Escalade remained by the front entrance until Ari was sure Jesse was safely inside.

The out-of-town wedding guests were put up at the Vineland, a boutique hotel in Dallas proper but on the border of Vineland Park. Jesse was never terribly impressed by hotels of any kind. All he required was a clean bed, a bathroom with a shower, and a TV. To him it didn't much matter if there was cucumber and raspberry water in the lobby or coriander-laced soap with micro-scrubbing particles. He stopped at the desk, showed his driver's license, and picked up a room key.

When he got upstairs, Diana didn't look in any mood to have him pay off his lost bet or to pay off her lost bet. The second after he said hello, she began pacing in front of the big rectangular window that looked out onto the campus of Southern Methodist University. He also noticed the weapons Ari had issued her were on the bed, slides in the locked-open position, two full clips each by their sides. There were holsters and ammo boxes, too. But Jesse didn't think what was troubling Diana had anything to do with the sidearms or even Peepers.

“What is it, Di?”

“What is what?”

Jesse said, “You're pacing a rut in the carpet.”

“Tonight.”

He was confused. “What about tonight?”

“Men! Christ, sometimes you guys are so thick it's amazing we survived as a species.”

“If you tell me what you're talking about, maybe I'll agree with you.”

“Jenn! I'm talking about Jenn.”

“What about Jenn?” Jesse was still confused. “You knew you were going to meet her at some point this week.”

“But I'm not ready. I should have brought different—”

“Stop. Stop,” Jesse said. “Jenn will always mean something to me, but I never felt about her the way I feel about you. Never, not for five minutes. I thought I was in love with her, but I didn't understand the word until I met you.” He kissed her softly on the cheek. “What Jenn and I had was good for a little while, but it was unhealthy. Beyond the physical attraction, we fell in love with the worst parts of us. The neediest parts of us bound us together in ways that were hard to break. That's not me and you. I'm here to help protect Jenn, but it's to protect you, too.”

“I know,” she said. “But Jenn is—I can't explain it.”

“You don't have to. Listen, there's a great spa in this place. Go do the works.”

“But Jesse—”

“No, please. I need to call Molly and get an update. Then I could use some sleep.”

“You sure?”

He nodded.

“But are you sure it's safe?” Diana asked, pointing to the bed. “I can't very well take my forty-caliber into the mud bath with me.”

Jesse laughed. “It's fine. I can guarantee you Kahan has people
planted all over this place. Probably has one of his ex–special ops guys hiding at the bottom of the mud bath.”

The tension seemed to go out of her muscles.

She shrugged. “Okay. When I come back, I may need you to pay me what you owe me.”

He winked. “We'll see.”

“What's that file about?” she asked, tilting her head at the top of the dresser.

“Later. Now get out of here before I make you pay up now.”

She stroked Jesse's stubbly cheek. “Don't shave until later. I like the way that feels against my skin. And Jesse, have a drink if you'd like. I know. Just please don't hide things from me.”

He smiled and watched her until the door closed behind her. She never stopped surprising him. He was glad she was going to escape her worries about Jenn for a little while. Funny she should say that thing about hiding things. What he hadn't told Diana was that, in his way, he was just as nervous about tonight as she was.

J
esse didn't call Molly immediately. Instead he fell deeply into one of the lies alcoholics tell themselves. He told himself he didn't need a drink. He didn't even want another. That the short ones he'd had earlier at the station were anomalies. That's the thing about addictive behavior. It's not only the substance you're addicted to that's the problem. It's all that comes with it: the patterns, the rituals, the games, the false narrative about loss of control, and the overt lies. He knew all of this, yet felt helpless to stop it once he had taken that first drink.

He remembered an old drunk cop from his time in uniform in L.A. Mikey Barson was a few months away from putting in his papers after thirty-plus years when Jesse was nearing his first full year on the job. In those days, they assigned vets with “problems” to less-than-dangerous duty and allowed them to go gently into the good night. No one was looking to hurt anybody or screw them out of their pensions. Not like when Jesse was shown the door and unceremoniously kicked through it. Anyway, there was one night Jesse and Barson were next to each other at a retirement party or wake. Sort of the same thing, Jesse thought, laughing joylessly.

“Haven't had a drink in three months before tonight,” Barson had said, double bourbon in hand, turning to Jesse. “And look at me. Right back to where I was.”

“Huh?”

“You'll see, rook. Stop for three days, three months, three years . . . don't matter. You take that first drink and time disappears. You used to drink a half-bottle when you stopped, it'll take a half-bottle when you get back. You never stop being the same drunk.”

Jesse didn't suppose anyone had ever told him something that rang so true and for so long. He wasn't a full-fledged drunk back then. At least that was what he told himself. Now what he did instead of calling Molly or taking that inevitable drink was to unload and reload ammo into the clips of their weapons. It was busywork, robotic. It took just enough concentration to distract one's mind and tamp down the thirst. But when the four clips were done, the room got very small. TV worked for a little while, a very little while.

He heard Dix's voice in his head, taunting him.
I told you so. You were only holding your breath again. You were never going to give it up forever. You like it too much. Deep down inside, it's who you are, what you are. Certainly no better than Mikey Barson. Worse. Barson didn't lie to himself the way you do.

Of course, the script was Jesse's and Jesse's alone. It was Jesse beating himself up. Dix, though tough on Jesse, would never have said “I told you so” or anything of the sort. Jesse felt his eyes searching for the minibar. Unlike in most hotels, its location wasn't obvious. Then, pulling back a door on one of the dressers, he found it.

Relieved, but still resisting, he dialed the Paradise PD's station number. Molly picked up.

“Paradise Police Department, Officer Crane speaking. How may I assist you?”

“I think that's as polite as you've ever been to me,” Jesse said.

“Don't be an ass. If I knew it was you, I wouldn't have made the effort. I might've hung up.”

“I miss you, too, Crane. Update me.”

“First, how's Dallas?”

“You ever stick your head inside a blast furnace? It's like that only prettier and more sprawling. So far I've seen the airport, the inside of the Vineland Park PD, and our hotel room.”

“Have you seen Jenn yet?” Molly asked, her voice almost breathless. “Has Diana met her?”

“What is it with you and Diana with Jenn?”

“Don't be thick, Jesse.”

“Diana called me thick, too.”

“This is big for her. Anyone who knows you for more than five minutes understands that Jenn was the central figure in your life for a long time. Diana wants to see if she measures up. If she could be that meaningful to you. Measuring up is just as important to women as it is to men, only we don't use rulers and parts of our anatomies to do it. And if you don't think Jenn isn't just as anxious about meeting Diana, you're nuts.”

“Enough,” Jesse said. “So what's going on over there?”

“What you would expect. Crime scene's a mess. Peter Perkins is over there. They've recovered part of the Sentra's chassis and a sawed-off twelve-gauge. Nothing yet on human remains. Peter says the staties think the remains will be skeletal and badly charred but that they should be able to get some usable DNA from the scene. Everything else is calm. Robbie Wilson is POed that you're not here, but screw him.”

“No, thanks. Not my type.”

“He's nobody's type,” Molly said. “Call me tomorrow and let me know how things go tonight.”

“Diana will knock her out in the fifth.”

“Wiseass.”

“That's Chief Wiseass to you.”

Molly hung up. Jesse looked at the clock and realized that it would probably be at least an hour until Diana got back to the room. He headed straight to the minibar and removed a little bottle of Black Label. All that was missing was club soda and a poster of Ozzie Smith. He managed without them just the same. He was adaptable that way.

S
uit called in to Molly to let her know he was taking his meal. When she told him that things were quiet and that he should go ahead, he turned the rearview mirror to face him. He removed his hat, finger-combed his hair, held his hand in front of his face to check his breath. He made a face and popped the mint he'd taken from the bowl at the register at Daisy's into his mouth. He checked his breath again. Now satisfied, he collected the flowers he'd picked up at the supermarket and headed for Elena's door.

“Luther,” she said, surprise in her voice. “I didn't expect you until later.”

“I hope you don't mind, I—”

“Don't be silly. Come in here. I don't want the whole town to see me kiss you.”

Inside, with the door closed behind them, they kissed long and hard. It was a minute before they came up for air.

“God, I love the way you make me feel,” she said, touching her own flushed cheek with the back of her hand. “How do you do that?”

“I feel the same way, El.” His voice was oddly strained and cracking.

Finally, Elena pointed at the bouquet in Suit's big left hand.

“Luther, are those to freshen up your patrol car?”

He was dumbfounded, then remembered about the flowers and why he was standing there in the first place.

“These are for you.” He handed them to her. And, fishing the ring out of his right pants pocket, he said, “This, too.” He handed her the ring and got down on one knee. “Elena Wheatley, will you please marry me?”

The longest, most anxious two seconds in the history of the world passed.

“Of course I will, Luther. Of course I will.”

She slipped the ring onto her finger, got on her knees opposite Suit, and pressed herself against him. His arms wrapped around her and they stayed that way for several minutes, both of them crying. When they stopped crying, Suit stood, lifting Elena with him.

“Let's do it soon, Luther,” she said, wiping the tears out of her eyes. “Please. We've both wasted a lot of time in our lives and I don't want to waste another second apart from you. I don't want to hide us from the world anymore.”

He grabbed her shoulders and held her at arm's length. “Soon, but not just yet. We need to keep the secret a little while longer. At least until Jesse gets back from Texas.”

“Why? You can ask Jesse to be your best man over the phone.”

“It's not that. It's . . .”

“It's what, Luther Simpson?” she said in the same tone she used as a student teacher.

“I don't want to scare you.”

“You're already scaring me. Secrets are what killed almost every relationship I've ever had. You can't keep secrets from me if you want me to commit my life to you.”

“That's just it, El.”

“What is?”

“Your life.”

“What about my life, Luther?”

“You know about the explosion on Trench Alley, right?”

“Everyone in Paradise knows about it. But what has that got to do with—”

“The man who shot me . . . He . . . You know, I shot him, too. And . . . well, he's back and he's taking revenge for things.”

Elena's expression turned grave. “He's back where?”

“Here, maybe. He killed two people in Boston. One really, but sort of two. Then he murdered an old woman, a cabdriver, and a dog in Salem.”

“A dog! He killed a dog? What kind of monster kills a dog?”

“The real kind. That's why we've got to—”

“But wait a second, Luther. What's this got to do with what happened in Trench Alley?”

“We think the man who was killed in the explosion was him.”

“Think? You're not sure?”

Suit shook his head. “Nope. And if we can't get good evidence, we may never know.”

Elena winced. It was just slightly, but enough for Suit to notice.

“See, that's why we've got to keep the secret for a little while longer. I want the world to know about us, just not yet.”

Elena wriggled out of his grasp, stepped close to him, and wrapped her arms around him. “As long as it's our secret together, I'll keep it as long as you want.”

They stayed that way, embracing, each holding on to prop the other up. Five minutes later, Suit was strolling back to his cruiser, his heart racing. He had never been so happy. He had never been so
scared, not even when he thought he was dying. Now he knew, really knew, what it was like to be afraid for someone else. He was so caught up in the jumble of emotions that he failed to see the white Chevy Sonic parked across the street from Elena's house, nor did he see the man behind the wheel, the nondescript man with the wire-rimmed glasses.